


If I Could Make it Go Away

by hattiefox



Category: Ozark (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Established Relationship, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Spoilers for Season 1, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hattiefox/pseuds/hattiefox
Summary: You and Marty have known each other for awhile, and there are a lot of things (feelings) both said and unsaid. When he shows up with two pieces of shocking news, you curse yourself for ever hoping this could work.
Relationships: Marty Byrde/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	1. When He Says Goodbye

You were in the shower when he called. You always kept your phone on vibrate only because the ringer always startled you, even though you never knew who it was. You were always afraid it would be him. Afraid and hopeful.

You walked in your towel from the bathroom to the dresser next to your bed, grabbing your phone and tapping on “new voicemail.” Your finger hovered over the play button, hesitating, your heart beating deep enough to close up your throat with each thump. You pressed play.

“Hey, hi, it’s...it’s Marty.” His voice was broken. Was he crying? “I just needed to see you. I...need to come see you. It’s important. Please, call me back, okay? Right when you get this.” The line was quiet for a moment, and then you heard some shuffling and he hung up.

You took a deep breath, sitting down on your bed, still in your towel. You wouldn’t be able to do anything, not even get dressed, until you knew what he needed. You tapped on his name and the small phone icon, holding your cell to your ear. It rang twice.

“Hi.” He sounded relieved.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for calling me back.”

“Sure. What’s up?” You tried to steady your voice, but the stress and excitement that was swimming in your stomach was starting to travel upwards, and every word you said was masked with uncertainty. He could hear it.

“It’s, uh. Well.” Marty was always so good with words, with making things sound pretty and official and careful. He was struggling with whatever this was, and that was different. Concerning.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Well, I mean. I’m okay.”

Your brow furrowed, and you pulled your towel tighter around your body. “Marty, what’s wrong?”

He sighed. There was a soft hum in the background, interrupting the quiet.

“Are you driving?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Can I come by?”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I need to talk to you. I think it should be in person.”

“That sounds terrifying, Marty.”

“No, I...it’s okay. Don’t be worried, okay? I just want to see you.”

You shook your head, knowing he couldn’t see. “How far away are you?”

“Five minutes.”

“Jesus.”

“Please?”

You’d never heard him beg before. Your heart, somehow, beat even harder.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’ll see you soon.”

You sat on the couch, hands shaking. He sat across from you on the coffee table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He reached for your hand and you let him take it. He ran his thumb across the top of your hand.

“This isn’t fair, Marty.”

His blue eyes were glossed over, tired. “I know.”

“She’s been cheating on you this entire time, and we never....you were so faithful to her.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand tighter. “I know.”

“How are you not furious?”

“I am.”

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

“I’m honestly more worried about the kids.”

“Do they know?”

“No. God, no.” He took his hand away and rubbed both of them over his face. “But that’s what I needed to talk to you about.”

“There’s more?”

He dropped his hands. “Yes.”

“Are you leaving her?”

He stared at you, eyes sad. “No.”

The knot in your throat grew, and you knew if you spoke another word you’d burst into hysterics. He wasn’t giving you the answers you needed. He was being quiet, being short, and you didn’t know why.

“Listen, this has nothing to do with Wendy, but...I dissolved the business.”

You coughed. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Marty, why? What the fuck?”

“It’s complicated. I don’t really--I _can’t_ , really, get into specifics. But Bruce got into some trouble, and we can’t do business together anymore.”

“What kind of trouble, Marty? He’s your best friend. It was your business, together. Are you in trouble too?”

He stood up, running his hands up and down his thighs. He turned around and faced away from you, going to stand by the window. “I might be.”

A single tear escaped from your eye, and you let it fall. “You’re not going to tell me more, are you?”

“You wouldn’t be safe if I did.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means things are really intense right now, and I can’t have you knowing anything that could get you into trouble, too.”

“No one knows who I am, Marty. There’s no one to connect us.”

He turned around, hands on his hips. “I’m not taking the chance.”

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well…” He came to sit back down, this time next to you on the couch. You could feel his warmth and you wanted to move closer, but you didn’t. “I have to get my family out of here.”

You looked at him, not understanding. “You’re sending them away?”

“No,” he said, looking down. “Well, yes. We’re all leaving. We’re moving to Missouri.”

Your vision blurred. “No.”

“Listen--”

“No. Marty, you can’t leave.”

“I don’t want to. If I had any other option you know I would--”

“No, I _don’t_ know. Why Missouri? Move to a farm, or further out into the suburbs, like every other rich family--”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not? Who’s looking for you, Marty?”

He didn’t respond.

“Marty? Who the fuck is looking for you?”

“No one’s looking. They know where I am. They’re sending me there.”

“To Missouri?”

“Yes. The Ozarks.”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. It’s better that way.”

“I don’t think it is. This fucking hurts, Marty. Do you realize that?”

“I do, I really do. I don’t want to leave. You know I wouldn’t leave you if I had any choice--”

“You do have a choice.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t--”

“Take me with you.”

He sighed. “I have to bring the kids and--”

“And Wendy?”

“Yes.” He reached for your hand but you pulled it away.

“I think you should go, then.” You looked forward through the window, but you could feel his eyes on you. You couldn’t bear to look at him, to say goodbye. This was everything you were scared of when you met Marty, when you decided to give into your feelings and fall for him, even though you could never have him. Even though he never let you. But you’d allowed yourself to hope.

“Please. I don’t want to leave us like this.”

You closed your eyes, tears flowing freely now. “You won’t be able to come visit, will you? You’re saying this is dangerous. This is goodbye, then, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, just stood and grabbed his jacket that was draped across the back of a chair. He moved towards the front door and placed his hand on the knob, hesitating before he opened it.

“I love you, you know.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. He didn’t wait for you to say it back.

Then he was gone.


	2. When You Said Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back on the beginning of your relationship with Marty, and a big decision after he leaves.

He didn’t call.

After that day he came by to tell you he was leaving, he didn’t reach out, not a single text or email. You weren’t surprised, but you were devastated. You’d spent the last two years loving him, pouring into him, hoping and praying that someday things might work out for the two of you. And just like that, he was gone.

You just wanted answers.

You worked at a library, mostly at the reference desk, which provided you a lot of quiet time to think, specifically overthink everything that happened. You found yourself using the computer at your desk to google “Ozarks, Missouri” when it was particularly slow one evening. The pictures were beautiful, and it looked like a popular family vacation destination, which made you jealous. You visualized Marty and Wendy with the kids, jumping in cool lake water on a hot summer day, splashing and laughing and enjoying each other. It made your heart hurt. 

He’d told you he loved you, you remembered, the last time you saw him, right before he left. You wondered if he had meant it. You were convinced he did. But not knowing was the hardest part. That, and knowing you didn’t say it back.

As you scrolled through the search results for the Ozarks, you came across one result that caught your eye: Jobs/Employment in Ozark, Missouri. 

You weren’t sure why you clicked on it. You weren’t sure why, after clicking on it, you found the only library job available and applied for it. You weren’t sure why you started planning, that night, telling the few friends you had, none of them familiar with Marty, that you were moving to the middle of nowhere. You weren’t sure but you were entirely sure. 

You had nothing left in Chicago. You’d moved there from Colorado, where you grew up, to attend art school. And you hadn’t left, even when you couldn’t find a job after graduation. You’d gotten the job at the library eventually and were feeling pretty lonely when, one night, a stranger walked in and came to you at the reference desk, asking about books on home renovation. He was slim and tall and had a dark head of hair. His eyes were a deep blue and he looked at you with kindness. You watched his hands as they held the paper he’d pulled from his pocket, a list of books he’d needed. He didn’t look like he had done much in the way of renovation before, but who were you to judge?

It was about twenty minutes from closing time, so you took the list from him and led him around the stacks of books, finding each one on his list. There was only one that you didn’t have, but you told him you could request it from another library and have it sent to your branch within a day or two. He’d smiled, thankful for the help, some of the nervousness from when he first walked in disappearing. 

After you handed him the books and gave him his list back, he didn’t immediately walk away. You were standing near a display of biographies, and you tried not to smile as you thought about him accidentally taking one step back and knocking down the whole display. You’d seen it happen so many times before, and if you were being honest with yourself, this is the one time you wouldn’t mind cleaning up the mess, especially if it meant more time with this stranger. 

He didn’t knock anything over, but he did come back two days later to pick up the book you’d requested for him. He had already asked for it at the front desk and checked it out, but made his way to the reference desk anyway, presumably to see you, you thought with a little too much excitement. As he approached the desk, you tried not to smile too big, instead clasping your hands together and placing them on your lap, trying to steady yourself. 

“Good to see you again,” you said softly as he reached the desk. 

“You too,” he said, holding out the book. “Thanks again for requesting this for me.”

“Of course,” you said, leaning back a little in your chair. He was wearing a suit and tie, and you assumed he just came from work. The tie was a dark blue, and you could tell it had been loosened a little at the knot. You tried not to stare. 

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you. It wasn’t awkward, not really, but you wondered what he could possibly be thinking. You decided to break the silence. 

“Is there...something else I can help with?” 

That seemed to shake him out of his thoughts, and he straightened up, placing his free hand in his pocket. “Oh, no, but thank you. I just wanted to come by and say...thanks.” 

You nodded, giving him another smile. “You are very welcome.” 

He lingered for a moment more, then slowly started to turn away. “Anyway,” he said, taking a few steps before turning to look at you. “Have a good night. I’ll see you around.”

“You too,” You said, quickly moving your hand to the folder you had on your desk, opening it and trying to make it seem like you had better things to do than flirt with a patron. You didn’t look back up for a few moments, but when you did, he was gone. 

He came back the next week. And the next. 

Eventually he asked you if you wanted to grab a drink after work one night, after stopping by near closing time to update you on his home renovations, which he was (mostly) doing on his own. He showed you pictures, which you oohed and ahhed at, which made him smile. You said sure to the drink, even though you knew he had a family. A pang of guilt coursed through you before you quickly pushed it away. He was so kind, and seemed genuinely interested in you and your boring life. It was just a drink. 

“Art school?” He said later, eyebrows raised. “That’s amazing. What kind of art do you make?”

You scoffed, taking a sip of your drink. You’d ordered whiskey on the rocks, which made him shake his head in disbelief. Men were always surprised when you didn’t order the fruitiest drink on the menu. 

“Honestly not much of anything, lately. But photography. I’ve been obsessed with it my whole life.” 

He sat next to you, his whole body turned so it was facing yours. You were angled forward, towards the bartender, who could sense your uncertainty. She kept eyeing you every few minutes, giving a slight smile when you rolled your eyes at Marty’s incessant questions. 

Marty. That was his name. You hadn’t known until you’d asked, until after you had arrived at the bar. It fit him nicely, you thought. 

“Photography,” he said, seemingly interested. “Can I see some of it?” 

You looked at him, brows furrowed. “I...don’t really have much of my work on my phone. I have some prints I could show you sometime, but I don’t have them with me now.”

He smiled. Your eyes widened a bit when you realized what you had said. The invitation you’d given him. 

“I mean--”

“It’s okay.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.” 

He smirked. “Okay, sorry. What were you going to say?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating, then swung your body around so it was facing him, your knees gently brushing his. 

“You have a family, don’t you?”

He looked down for a moment. “I do.”

“Why did you ask me to get a drink with you?”

He shook his head, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m not sure.”

That wasn’t the answer you were looking for. 

“Cheating husbands aren’t really my type.”

“Well, luckily I’m not a cheating husband.” He was looking at you now, staring right at you with his blue eyes. “I promise.”

He seemed almost sad, and you felt a small bit of remorse. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“No, it’s a valid response. I guess marriage and family and business are all these big milestones I’ve somehow managed to achieve, but each one feels distinctly wrong in their own ways.”

You took a sip of your drink, setting it down. “How so?” 

“Her name’s Wendy, my wife. And I love her, but she’s distant. And I get the feeling she would be better off with someone who could actually make her happy.”

You took a deep breath, surprised by his vulnerability. “Did she tell you that?”

“Tell me what?”

“That she isn’t happy?”

He sighed, swirling his beer around. “No. But I know she is. Every day when I come home I find her in a different room of the house, and she has this look that I can’t really describe. It’s like she’s a million miles away. And I don’t know when that started happening, but now it’s our everyday life.”

You nodded slowly. “And the kids?”

His eyes lit up a bit, and your heart swelled thinking about him as a father. 

“They’re perfect.” 

You smiled. This man was going to ruin you if you let him.

“I think you should go somewhere, just you and your wife. Ask her what’s going on. And maybe figure it out together. Otherwise it’ll probably just get worse.”

He looked at you, and you couldn’t quite place the emotion on his face. 

“What is it?”

He put his beer down and clasped his hands together. “Not many women would give marriage advice to a random sad guy at a bar.” 

“Well, if you’re telling me this isn’t a date, then that’s news to me.”

He laughed, a full, genuine laugh, which made you laugh too. 

“I’d really like to do this again. And I won’t talk about my marriage, I promise. Just about...uh, whatever you want to talk about. Art. You can show me your photography.” 

You looked away for a moment, your eyes settling on a neon beer sign in the corner. 

What did you have to lose?

“Okay,” you said finally, picking up your drink and finishing it in one large gulp. “This one’s on me.”


	3. When You Find Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your move to the Ozarks comes together quickly, and you begin your search for the one reason you're really there--Marty Byrde.

Within two weeks, you were officially moved into your new apartment in the Ozarks. 

Finding a new job, apartment, and subleasing your place in Chicago went a little too smoothly. You didn’t take signs from the universe often, but you supposed these things were some sort of sign. You kind of hoped they were. 

You gave yourself about a week to unpack and get acquainted with the area before you started work. You were determined to find Marty in that time, though you didn’t even know where to start. You began googling popular restaurants, clubs, and landmarks in the Ozarks, hoping that you’d find him in one of those places. You decided to text him, even though you weren’t sure if he had the same number. Your fingers hovered above the keyboard, unsure of how to start. 

_Hi Marty._

Maybe that was enough to get his attention, you thought for a moment. But he did deserve to know you were there. You had followed him, you realized, though you didn’t let the overall creepiness of that fact set in.

_I’m in town. The Ozarks. Let me know when I can see you._

You hit send. Better not to overthink it. 

You busied yourself with unpacking, waiting anxiously for your phone to ring. After a couple of hours you started to feel defeated, and for the first time, began to think about how you’d really made this move, upended your whole life, for a married man. And he wouldn’t even text you back. 

You grabbed your phone and your wallet, sticking them in your back pocket. The sun was starting to set but you had nothing better to do, so you found your keys and just got in your car and started driving. 

The roads were dense with trees, and you took a deep breath. The Ozarks seemed small, but maybe they were easy to get lost in. You hoped so. You hoped Marty felt the same way. You hoped he still felt the same way he did when he left your apartment that day in Chicago. Hope was all you had.

You rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a large, run-down structure that, by the looks of it, didn’t have too much business. 

“The Blue Cat Lodge,” you whispered to yourself, reading the sign. There was a neon sign in one of the windows, and a few cars in the parking lot. _Might as well grab a drink,_ you thought. 

The inside was dark and was just as musty as you would think, but you couldn’t help but smile at the character of the place. A jukebox sat against the wall, and a few older men sat scattered throughout the place, one at the bar, two at a table. They didn’t look up when you came in. 

You took a seat at the bar as a woman came through the door from what you assumed was the kitchen. She looked a little startled to see you, but gave you a small smile as she took her place behind the bar. 

“Hi there. What can I get you?”

“Oh, whatever you have on tap is fine. Just thought I’d stop in.” 

She moved to grab a glass and then to the tap to fill it, her body familiar with every movement. She was a little older than you, you guessed, with dark brown hair that fell in front of her face when she leaned forward. She wore a gray tank top and you could see sweat glistening on the tops of her shoulders. 

“You from around here?” She asked, placing the beer in front of you. 

“Thanks. And no. I mean, I just moved here, actually. I work at the library.” 

She nodded, sticking out her hand. “I’m Rachel. I own this place.”

You took her hand and shook it, surprised by its roughness. “It’s a nice place.” 

You were being genuine, but she laughed. “It’s a shit hole. But I love it. It’s become a home.”

You smiled, taking a sip of your beer. It tasted like water, but you didn't mind. 

“What made you want to move to the Ozarks?” Rachel asked, grabbing a rag from behind the bar. 

You swallowed. “Oh, well I actually just…” 

She looked at you when you hesitated, her eyes curious. 

“I wanted to get away from my family, honestly.” You tried to laugh it off, make it seem casual. She seemed to accept your answer.

“I get that. I’ve always found choosing my family to be the better option, if you know what I mean.”

You nodded, remembering why you were actually there. “I do know what you mean.”

“Rach, another beer?” The guy at the other end of the bar called. 

Rachel gave you a small smile before walking over to him, taking his empty glass to refill it. 

You wanted nothing more than to ask her if she knew Marty. It seemed like she was the kind of person who knew everybody, and would certainly take notice of a whole new family moving to town. But they hadn’t been there long, and you had just lied about why you moved there. _Idiot,_ you cursed yourself, taking another sip of your beer and pulling your phone out of your back pocket. No messages. 

Rachel came back to you after delivering the other guy’s drink. “I’m actually going to head out, but if you need anything or want to close out, there’s a guy in the back who can help. He’s just working on paperwork and a bunch of boring shit.” 

You laughed. “Okay. Thanks, Rachel.”

“I’ll see you around,” she said, grabbing a jacket from behind the bar and pulling out her car keys. 

“Yeah, see you.”

She left, and within the next 30 minutes, the three men had left too, all leaving cash on the table or the bar and heading out without a word. You figured you should probably go, but there was something about the silence of the place that made you want to stay. You were rustling through your wallet looking for some cash when you heard the door to the kitchen open in front of you, and you looked up, locking eyes with the same man who had walked up to you in the library so long ago. His eyes widened when he saw you and he froze, the door swinging shut behind him. 

“Hi,” you choked out, surprised by how the sight of him made you emotional. 

He moved towards you slowly, mouth slightly open. He came around the side of the bar until he was next to you, and you stood, facing him, inches away from a face you were scared you would never see again.

“What are you doing here?” He asked finally, his eyes glistening. His voice was hoarse.

You shook your head. “I’m not sure.”

“How did you find me?”

“I didn’t know you would be here,” you said, _here_ meaning the Blue Cat, which was true. Out of all the places...so much for being able to get lost here. 

“But why…” his voice trailed off. He looked so tired. The dark circles under his eyes made you think that he was working too much, which wasn’t surprising. You were surprised he was working somewhere called The Blue Cat Lodge, but you decided not to bring it up.

“I had to see you, Marty. I couldn’t…” You paused for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding in, running his hands over his face. “You can’t be here. What I told you when I last saw you is still true. It’s not safe.”

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“You can’t know what it means. But you have to trust me.”

“You need to trust _me,_ ” you said, stepping even closer to him. You could feel the fabric of his button-down graze your arm. “I'm not going anywhere, Marty. I’ll stay away from your family and your life but I can’t be so far away from you. Can you really stand there and tell me you haven’t missed me?” 

He sighed, reaching for you, running his hands along the sides of your arms. “God, of course I have. But this isn’t a movie. You can’t just show up in a small town and expect things to work out.”

You stepped away from him, your eyes brimming with tears. 

“You know I wish it was different. That I could’ve stayed with you in Chicago.” 

“But you didn’t,” you said, your voice shaking. “Do you remember what you told me?”

He looked at you, then nodded. “I do.” 

“Love is a big word, Marty.” 

“I know.” 

The haze of the dim lights and dusty floorboards circled around you and you took a step towards him, your bodies close again. 

“Say it again.”

He blinked. “I…”

You searched his eyes, waiting for some sort of promise, any hint of desire. They just looked sad.

“Marty,” you whispered, taking his hand and lacing his fingers in yours. “Please.”

He reached towards you slowly, placing his other hand on your face, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I love you,” he said, and you felt it wash over you like a wave. You weren’t going to let him leave again, weren’t going to let him get away. 

You closed your eyes. “I love you too.” 


	4. When He Tells the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ask Marty to come over, and decide once and for all that it's time for him to come clean.

You didn’t see him after that, not for a while. He made it clear that he couldn’t come see you, that you couldn’t come see him. Nobody could know you knew him. You were unsure if this was for the sake of your own safety or because he didn’t want Wendy to find out. Both made you want to cry.

When people at work asked why you moved to the Ozarks, you had no idea what to say. “I have family here” would have led them to ask who your family was, and “I grew up here” would beg the question “Then why have I never seen you?” You didn’t think anyone would buy that you just wanted to move for a change of scenery, and you couldn’t say you moved here for the job, because there’s no way in hell someone would believe you made more money in the Ozarks than in Chicago. Well, maybe if you were Marty Byrde. You guessed he was raking in some cash, somehow, though he still wouldn’t tell you.

One particularly lonely night, you sat in your apartment on your mattress that lay directly on the floor. It was raining and you could see the drops moving slowly down the glass of the small window in the corner. You wondered what Marty was doing—if he was at the Blue Cat, if he was at home, if he was with Wendy. You imagined him next to you, his body rested against yours, eyes closed. You imagined reaching out and running a finger gently along the lines of his face, which would make him smile.

A low rumble of thunder shook you from your thoughts. He loved you. He said it, and you believed him. When you thought too hard about it your whole body started to tremble. He had a wife, kids, a secretive and dangerous job, and a life he wanted to keep separate from you. But he loved you. And that had to count for something, right? He’d never touched you, not really. But you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel at that moment. His light eyes would darken as they did when you showed up at the Blue Cat that night. He would run a hand down your side and wait to hear your breathing, getting heavier with each passing moment. Time would stand still, and you’d forget, and he’d forget, everything else.

God, you needed him.

You pulled out your phone, tapping on his contact. You began a message:

_Marty. I miss—_

No, no. You tried again.

_What are you doing?_

You shook your head, deleting it. You thought for a moment, wondering what you could possibly say to get him to come. What would make Marty Byrde come to you, no questions asked? You finally decided on sending your address—no explanation, not his name. Just an address. You pressed send.

And you waited. An hour passed. It was a Tuesday evening, and he was probably going to be done with work soon. You triple checked that your phone’s sound was on. You eventually grabbed a book from the floor beside your bed, one you had been trying to finish for a week but couldn’t focus on. You opened up to the dog-eared page and tried to lose yourself for a while.

_Ding._

Your whole body jumped, and you quickly grabbed your phone.

_When?_

You smiled, your heart swelling.

_Now._

You replied immediately, then sat and waited a few moments, eventually putting your phone back down beside you to pick up your book again. But there was no way you’d be able to focus now. You willed yourself not to think about him until he responded, which he very well might not, you thought sadly. You read the same sentence in your book over and over again, completely distracted, for what felt like ages. 

A singular knock on your apartment door came suddenly. You weren’t even entirely sure you heard it. But you got up, trying not to be too hopeful, and made your way to the door. You brought your eye to the peephole and saw him, ragged and tired, standing behind it. You smiled and composed yourself before opening the door.

“Hey.”

A small smile creeped onto his face. “Hey.”

“Do you want to come in?”

He looked down at his shoes, hands in his pockets, then stepped towards you. You moved to the side so he could pass. His jacket brushed against your arm, and you tried not to shudder.

He stopped just inside the door, which you closed behind him. “Nice place,” he said unenthusiastically, which made you laugh.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” He turned around to face you. You pressed your back against the door, crossing your arms.

He sighed. “Why am I here?”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again. “You tell me.”

He raised his eyebrows, moving to the couch to sit down. He peeled his jacket off and set it on the coffee table. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked up at you.

You moved to the living room, leaning against the nearest wall across from him.

“Are you going to sit down?”

“In a little bit.”

He smirked, rubbing his hands together. “I really shouldn’t be here, you know.”

“But you are.”

“Well, yeah.” He shook his head. You stared at his hands, wanting to touch them. Wanting them to touch you.

“I just wanted to see you, Marty. I missed you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you searched them for any sign of affection, any hint that he still loved you. They were blank.

“I missed you too,” he said.

“Sounds like it,” you scoffed, moving to the couch to sit next to him. You got as close as you could without touching him, your knee just inches from his thigh.

“It’s been…a rough time, being here.” He sighed, not looking at you. “It’s complicated, and I keep finding myself distracted when I’m at work, or when I’m at home. Anywhere.”

“Distracted by what?” You asked, turning your body to face him.

He smiled and looked at you. “I keep thinking about the girl that followed me here.”

Your heart started beating faster, a lump forming in your throat. You felt guilty, all of a sudden, knowing that your presence was making his life harder. You didn’t want that, and to be honest, hadn’t really thought about it when you made the quick decision to move.

“I’m sorry, Marty.” Your voice quivered a bit, and he turned his body to face you, one arm along the back of the couch.

“I don’t think you are.”

You frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re constantly asking me to risk my life, and my family’s lives, to see you.”

You swallowed, tears beginning to well in your eyes. “That’s not fair. You won’t even tell me what’s going on. You won’t tell me what you’re doing, or who is after you. You don’t think I worry about you all the time?”

“I don’t really know what you’re thinking or worrying about, but honestly, I've had a lot of other things on my mind.” His jaw was clenched, and he seemed unfazed when a single tear rolled down your cheek.

“Well I guess I made a mistake coming here.”

He swallowed, eyes still focused on you. “Maybe.”

You looked away, blurry eyes taking in the rest of your tiny living room, almost bare. You hadn’t really decorated, or even unpacked the lamps and books and other small items that would make it feel like home. You never really felt it was time.

“I’m not sure what you want me to do, Marty. I came here—" you let out a deep breath you’d been holding. “I came here because I love you, and you said you loved me. And as complicated as your life is, I want to be a part of it. I want to help, if I can.”

He sat, unflinching, his eyes still dark, unreadable.

“But if that’s not what you want…if you don’t want me here, then I guess…I guess I shouldn’t be.” You wanted those last words to be a little more biting, almost challenging, but instead they sounded desperate, sad. You wanted more than anything for him to say he wanted you, that he would fight for you. But you’d never seen Marty Byrde fight for anything before. It was crazy to think you’d be the exception.

“I want you to be happy,” he said after a moment. You met his gaze. “I really do. I also want you to be safe, and I know for a fact that you are not safe here. You’re not safe anywhere around me. And it kills me that—“ He swallowed, his eyes softening. “It kills me that I can’t be what you need. I’ve never been able to be what you need, not even back in Chicago. I’m married, and I have children, and I got involved with some people who can take them all away in a second. And I don’t want them taking you.” He shook his head, and you could see tears in his eyes. “I won’t let them take you away from me.”

You let out a choked sob, bringing your hands to your face. A moment later his arms were around you, holding you close as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his hand rubbing your back. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You need to tell me,” you said quietly, pulling away to look at him. “You need to tell me who’s after you.”

“I can’t—"

“Please.” You sniffed and brought a hand to his cheek, brushing away a tear with your thumb. “Please, Marty.”

“Okay,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Okay.”


End file.
